


Empty

by leo_lullaby



Series: Brie's Late Night Sam Drabbles [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also mild swearing, But it's not really intentional, Caring Dean, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, Hurt Sam Winchester, It's a fine line, Kind of Self-Harm, Like really peeps be careful, Possible trigger warnings!, Sam Hallucinates, Scratching, be careful please, kind of, self-hurt, there is blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leo_lullaby/pseuds/leo_lullaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sam's wall down, Lucifer has a fun time taking residence in his head. This takes place during one of Sam's breakdowns, how he thinks and how he gets through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

Pain. Drag. Release.

It has worked so far, why shouldn’t it work again? All of this poison flowing beneath his too-tight skin needs to come out. It is already tainted and unholy anyways, he has made sure of that. It needs to escape. It is alive and angry in his veins and it wants out. It is a snake crawling through his muscles and biting at his nerves. It is infecting him, slowly pumping poison through his body. It is amazing his heart is still working as well as it is.

The serpent never leaves, it is appeased sometimes and will burrow away somewhere in the cave of the back of his mind, but it is only happy for so long. Then it gets hungry again.

Pain.

It slithers its way through his body already thrumming from holding in too damn much. The creature is strong, it has a head of steel that can cut and burn. There is nowhere that it can’t reach. It wants out. He can feel it inside him, making his arms scratch and gimp hand twitch.

Drag.

So, he lets himself scratch. There is no one here to stop him and he doesn’t want them to. He needs to let this monster out. Out. Out. _Out._

But it won’t leave. He has been told too many times that he is too far gone and that’s too damn bad but there is nothing to do about it. But if he lets it just claw and slip through his veins it is so much worse. He has to try. There is a small flash of heightened pain but then he can finally breathe. The snake can shed its skin and let it go. He knows the snake will regrow itself and get stronger, that’s what it always does after retreating away in its cave, but even this release is something. It is shedding and he can feel some leaving his body. It is hot and thick and makes his nose crinkle in distaste of the painfully familiar coppery scent. But it helps.

Some of the pressure is gone. The snake is weakening, fading away again. A little bit less of a monster.

Release.

It is quieter. His heartbeat is slower. His chest is able to correctly capture air again. The hissing is gone. The voice is gone. He can put a name to the voice now. The snake has gotten much stronger since his mental wall fell. The snake has a name. It has a face. A human face, even though he knows by now that is merely a vessel. Another mask. Another front. He hates the face. He hates being able to see the devil beside him. Next to him. Behind him. In his head. He hates the touch. Cold. Too. _Damn._ Cold.

Freezing, but he hates to use that word because it makes it sound like there is some faint sliver of hope that this isn’t the normal temperature and there is warmth just waiting to rush over him. He is smarter than that. He knows too well that the cold doesn’t end. It doesn’t even fade. He is always freezing and shivering and it lets the snake plow through him again and soothingly hiss into his ear.

It is an empty comfort. Just like the old snakeskin rushing from his widening scratches. It is all so _empty._ He knows the devil’s face staring him down with a sickly satisfied grin is truly empty. There is no way he could view Lucifer the archangel as the fierce being of light and power he is. The devil is empty too. Well, whoever he is looking at is empty.

He feels some kind of sick sympathy for the devil. He never thought he would see the day. Then it is gone because the quiet is filled with soothing hisses.

_Monster. Freak. Abomination._

Maybe he should just etch them somewhere so the snake could see them and stop whispering them into his ear like he could somehow forget them. Maybe then the thing would finally shut up. But no, because he needs to be reminded of how empty he is. Every. Damn. Moment.

The snake slithers through his veins and he can sense the false security. It hurts, to want to be full on the inside of something good but instead having this _monster_

_freak_

_abomination_

rushing through him and trying to comfort him. This is the worst torture of all. All of the lying.

Pain.

He tries to free it all. Free the pressure that his body is secretly longing for but knows it shouldn’t have in this manner.

Drag.

It subsides.

Release.

But Dean never let him have it that easy. Or that difficult. Dean can see through the lies. Dean can send the snake away into the cave of his brain for him. Dean doesn’t see the snake. It helps sometimes. Dean just scares the snake away rather than trying to release it. And it helps.

For a little while.

But when an animal runs scared with the mind of a predator it grows stronger in its solitude to return with vengeance. It is smarter. It is tactful. It is almost human. It _hurts._

Pain.

But Dean isn’t here right now. He knows that his older brother has not abandoned him like the snake is hissing and urging him to believe. His brother just told him a little while ago he went on a food run so the two of them “don’t starve” but then the emptiness will be filled again. Maybe it will be better this time, filled with something besides lies. It is always better when Dean is here and can overpower the snake.

But Dean left in a hurry, wanted to leave, needed space. The snake says it with a laugh. He is so sick of the _lying._

When any words are taken into his head anymore the monster feels inclined to mix them up and he is so _sick_ of playing Scrabble now he just wants it to shut up and let him think and breathe but no, of course not, this is the snake’s favorite game and it has a new high score.

Gone. His brother left him for food. For something. For space. Space that will keep him away from the nutcase little brother. Distance from the poisonous _monster_

_freak_

_abomination._

His nails are deep in skin now and he can’t stop. It is itching. His bones are itching and the snake is laughing and shedding down his arms to ruin his worn jeans and soak the old carpet beneath him a dark inky maroon.

Drag.

He can’t stop and doesn’t want to. The snake is too loud. The room is too bright so he closes his eyes and sees flames too cold to burn and too hot to freeze and the hissing won’t stop. His chest it too empty and filled with poison and he can’t breathe.

The snake is crying against his skin. It is a new sensation and it startles him. The snake is cursing and growling in his head and retreating with a pained snarl back deep into his mind. He is shivering and burning and shedding and suffocating. Something touches his face and the contact is surprisingly warm. It is too soothing to be cold. Too gentle to be a lie. Too calming to be a snake.

He barely opens his eyes because he is afraid. He is breaking and terrified and the old snakeskin is staining his arms and he doesn’t want it to cover him all the way because that would make him one too. And that would be the worst of all. The final step. Being completely covered in snakeskin would make him a snake. There would be no possible way to fight or turn back because then he would finally and fully be a _monster_

_freak_

_ab-_

“Sammy,”

Familiar green eyes worriedly search his. He can hear. He can feel the grounding touch on his cheek and supportive pressure on his forearms. He can feel his muscles straining and his teeth grinding and he lets it go.

He lets everything go. Because he can feel his body again and Dean is wiping up the snake from his skin and stitching the creature away, back into the cave, back into the cage. He is empty again, but empty of the lies and heat and cold. He can breathe.

“Dean.”

Release.

**Author's Note:**

> It's too late to think but this idea just came to me. Thanks for reading and love ya'll <3


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